“Max,” 99 broke in, “couldn’t you, just for once, give a simple answer? We don’t have time for a full explanation.”
“You’re right, 99,” Max said. He turned back to the old prospector. “It’s magic,” he said.
“Now, you’re making sense,” the old man told him.
5
Cautiously, and as quietly as possible considering that the pots and pans dangling from the pack on the mule’s back were clanging, Max, 99, the old prospector and the mule made their way down the hillside toward the town.
“Can you do something with those pans?” Max said to the old prospector.
“Sure. I cook in them. What do you think I have them for? Just to keep the mule from getting lost?”
“What I mean is, isn’t there some way you can keep them quiet?”
“Well. . I don’t need them any more, since I don’t cook,” the old prospector replied. “So, I guess I could get rid of them. A ghost don’t eat, you know. Anything a ghost eats, it goes straight on through and drops to the ground. Who wants to eat stuff that’s dropping on the ground all the time?”
Max halted the march. “The pans. . please?”
The old prospector unfastened the pots and pans from the pack and tossed them aside. They went banging and clattering down the hill.
“Why don’t you just go down there to the hotel and make a general announcement to those KAOS assassins that we’re coming,” Max said sarcastically.
“You sure don’t know much about sneaking up on folks,” the old prospector said. “That’s no way to do it. You got to take them by surprise.”
Max decided there was nothing to be gained by further discussion. He motioned and proceeded and 99 and the old prospector and the mule tagged after him again. Soon, they reached the bottom of the hill. Then, Max led them into town. When he saw that they would have to pass the hotel, where he assumed the seminar was in progress, to get to the saloon, he signalled the march to a halt.
“We’ll have to keep down,” he said in a hushed tone. “If those KAOS assassins spot us, all is lost. There are too many of them for us to handle alone. Now, everyone down. Flat on the ground. From here to the saloon, we’ll crawl on our bellies.”
“That sounds kind of dumb to me,” the old prospector said.
“It just so happens that it’s a generally accepted military tactic,” Max replied. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘an army travels on its stomach?’ ”
“I heard it. But I never believed it,” the old prospector said. “How about the mules? Look at Madame DuBarry-you think you’re going to get her down on her belly? She’s got too much dignity for that.”
“All right-everybody stoop, then,” Max said, compromising.
The old prospector addressed the mule. “Think you can do that, Madame?” he asked. “Think you can look stoopid like this fella here?”
“Isn’t there another way you could phrase that?” Max asked.
“Max-we’re wasting so much time!” 99 protested.
“You’re right, 99.” He turned to the old prospector again. “The important thing is to get to the saloon,” he said. “If you and your mule want to walk upright, that’s your business. But 99 and I happen to be experienced secret agents and we know how to do these things, so we’ll crawl on our stomachs. Now-ready?”
“Max. . if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll walk upright, too,” 99 said. “This dress just came back from the cleaners, and I don’t see-”
“Well, I’ll crawl!” Max said disgustedly. And he dropped to the ground and began slithering through the dust toward the saloon.
99 and the old prospector and the mule ambled along behind.
“He does that good,” the old prospector remarked to 99.
“He’s had a lot of practice,” she replied. “He drops his cuff links a lot, and they always roll under the bed, and he always has to crawl under after them.”
“He’s sure got to be expert,” the old prospector said, genuinely impressed. “If there was any demand for that kind of thing, I bet he could make a good living at it.” He addressed the mule. “Watch that technique,” he said. “You might want to crawl under a fence someday, and that’s the way to do it. You might have a little trouble pulling yourself forward with your elbows, though. I never noticed that before-you got no elbows, Madame.”
The mule hee-hawed.
“True, true,” the old prospector nodded.
Max stopped crawling and got to his feet. “What did she say?” he asked the old prospector, indicating the mule.
“He’s not a she, he’s a he,” the old prospector replied.
“A he? Named Madame DuBarry?”
“That was his idea, not mine,” the old prospector said. “I didn’t give him a name at all when I got him. I figured that ought to be his right, picking a name for himself. So, for the first nine years I just called him ‘Hey, you!’ Then, on his tenth birthday, I told him to take any name he wanted. Madame DuBarry was the pick. He figured being French it had class.”
“I’ll accept that,” Max said. “Now, what was it he replied when you made that comment about him not having any elbows?”
“He said it saves him the trouble of sewing patches on his sweaters.”
Remaining upright, Max moved on toward the saloon once more. The others hurried after him. As Max neared the entrance to the saloon, however, he abruptly halted. He cocked his head, listening. Then he gestured urgently to the others, signalling them to flatten themselves against the side of the building.
“What is it?” 99 whispered.
“Somebody’s in there!” Max whispered back. “I heard a voice-talking. Let’s get close to a window. Maybe we can hear what’s going on.”
Quietly and warily, they advanced to a window. They could all hear the voice, then.
“It’s Arbuthnot!” 99 said. “What’s he doing-talking to himself?”
“I don’t think so, unfortunately,” Max replied. “Evidently the seminar is being held in the saloon instead of in the hotel. All those assassins must be in there.”
“I see-it’s the KAOS assassins he’s addressing,” 99 nodded. “Then, that means-”
“It means we can’t get in there to look for the Coolidge-head penny,” Max said gloomily. “Unless- Let’s listen. The meeting may break up soon. Then, when the KAOS assassins leave, we can slip in and find the penny.”
“We might pick up some helpful hints, too, listening,” 99 said. “After all, Arbuthnot is recognized as the master. Even around Control he’s known as the assassins’ assassin.”
“Shhhhh!” Max said. He stood on tippytoes to get closer to the window in order to be able to hear better.
“The important thing, when you get an assignment to assassinate some sick person, is not to get that sick person’s germs,” Arbuthnot was saying. “Or, in the words of the prophet: ‘What does it profit an assassin to carry out his mission and then come down with pneumonia?’ ”
“That makes a lot of sense,” Max said to 99.
“Shhhh-I don’t want to miss any of this!”
“There is a lot of agitation these days for a code of ethics for assassins,” Arbuthnot went on. “And, regarding that, I would like to say that, in my personal opinion, what is needed is not a code of ethics for assassins, but a code of ethics for assassins’ victims!”
There were cheers.
“And, thinking along that line,” Arbuthnot continued, “I have compiled a list of rules that I think victims ought to be compelled to abide by. Let’s see what you think of the list. Now, number one, all victims ought to be completely disinfected at least one hour prior to the assassination. Free disinfection clinics ought to be set up for those victims for whom the process would cause economic hardship. I, personally, do not want to assassinate anybody knowing that he, she or it will end up in debt because of it. Agreed?”